


Prompt 25: A Long Soak

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [25]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Bad Puns, Bathing/Washing, Comfortween, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27208783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html25. A Long SoakBathing as comfort, visiting a hot springs, using hot tub or jacuzzi,Jimmy spills carrot purée all over himself and Thomas. There’s only one bath! What will they do!
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Prompt 25: A Long Soak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hi_im_eff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_im_eff/gifts).



> This is basically crack 😂!
> 
> For hi_im_eff for playing a great Jimmy to my Thomas in the discord role play group and because CARROT SAUCE!

Jimmy knew he was in for to be a bad day when he forgot to set his alarm, overslept and didn’t have time for more than a quick cigarette and a cup of tea for breakfast before dashing to serve upstairs.

He’d been thinking about Thomas’s eyes when he was ironing the papers and had accidentally gone to the dining room with a smudge of newsprint on his forehead - Carson had shouted at him like he’d taken a shit on the dining room table. He’d loitered in the kitchen too long, watching Thomas as he talked with Mrs Hughes, and Mrs Patmore had yelled at him. He’d let his mind wonder to Thomas when cleaning some tarnished silver and had somehow burned a hole in his sleeve - he had absolutely no idea how that was even possible, but there it was on his livery, like a brand displaying his absent-mindedness to the world.

By the time upstairs dinner was announced he’d had enough of the shittiest day in history and couldn’t wait for it to end.

Jimmy was making a round of the table with a large jug of of some horrible smelling carrot purée, his mind half on his task and half working out roughly how many minutes it would be until he could fall into bed. Thomas was two steps ahead of him with a side dish, looking as well turned out and handsome as ever. He moved around with the room with the poise of a dancer - it was incredibly distracting and Jimmy often found his eyes and thoughts drifting to the under-butler when he should be standing to attention.

He had served almost half of the table when he tripped on a ruche in the carpet and careened forwards, fighting to stay on his feet and to avoid tipping the sauce down the Dowager’s back. Thomas turned and tried to stop Jimmy’s inevitable crash, but it only made things worse; they ended up falling down in a tangle of arms and legs, with Jimmy on top of Thomas. He’d accidentally poured out the remaining sauce and it had slopped between them like the filling in an unusual under-butler-footman sandwich.

It was on their _faces_. It was in their _hair_. It was on their _livery_. They looked as if they’d bathed in the stuff. And smelled like it too.

Alfred helped Jimmy up and Thomas scrambled to his feet, his face apoplectic. They were both overwhelmingly orange. It would’ve been funny if Carson hadn’t looked fit to have an aneurysm.

“Goodness James, Barrow, are you alright?” Lady Cora said.

“Yes, thank you Milady,” Thomas answered for both of them. Jimmy tried to look as contrite as possible.

“I am very sorry for this ignominious display Milord,” Carson said, “please rest assured it will **not** happen again.” He glared at Jimmy as if the footman had deliberately made a fool of himself in some odd act of defiance.

“No harm done Carson,” His Lordship waved a hand, “and don’t tell Mrs Patmore, but I’m not a fan of the carrot purée, so James has done me a favour.” He gave Jimmy a good-natured smile and said; “James, Barrow, go and get yourselves cleaned up before the wind changes and you end up that fetching shade of orange for life.”

Jimmy decided he quite liked Lord Grantham.

Once they were safely though the green baize door and on the staff staircase Jimmy sighed and said; “Thomas, I’m so bloody sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Thomas glared at him; “You’re never paying attention these days. Where is your mind?” He wiped a bit of carrot from his cheek and scowled.

“I just,” Jimmy started, unsure how to explain that it was Thomas who was distracting him. “I don’t know.” He gave Thomas a rueful look.

Thomas deflated, unable to stay cross. “It’s just sauce,” he said, “it’s not the end of all things. His Lordship didn’t give two hoots.”

“Carson’s going to kill me.”

“Maybe,” Thomas smirked, then added; “we’ve got more chance of surviving it if we at least try to save our livery and get back down for dessert.”

They headed upstairs, leaving a trail of little orange drips behind them.

At the top of the stairs Thomas conceded; “I need a bath. It’s all in my hair.”

“It’s down my collar,” Jimmy replied. “I need a bath an’ all.”

“There’s not time for both of us to bath.”

Jimmy frowned; “Not point getting changed when I’m just goin’ to get clean livery all carroty again.”

“Well there’s only one bath, and I’m getting in it, so I don’t know what to tell you.” Thomas said, and he went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Jimmy silently scowled at the closed door and the sound of running water coming from inside. He went to his room to change and tried wiping himself over with a washcloth but found, to his dismay, his very skin was stained orange.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He thought of Thomas, most likely lounging in a scalding hot bath by now, briefly considered breaking into the women’s corridor to use their bathroom. He pulled a face - it absolutely wasn’t worth risking Mrs Hughes’s ire.

Then he fell upon a better idea.

A _much_ better idea.

Jimmy wrapped his dressing gown around his naked body, grabbed a clean towel and tiptoed down the corridor. He pressed his ear to the bathroom door - he could hear the sloshing of water and he could even smell the lavender of the soap. Jimmy gave a nervous glance up and down the corridor then tried the door - it was, of course, locked.

“Someone’s in here,” came Thomas’s voice from inside. He sounded _relaxed_. Jimmy narrowed his eyes - he knew if he jiggled the lock just _so_ , he could get it to pop open.

So, without giving himself time to think about why he was breaking into a bathroom occupied by a wet and naked Thomas Barrow, he jerked open the door, darted inside and latched it behind him.

“Jimmy!” Thomas exclaimed from the tub. Jimmy could just about see the under-butler’s startled expression through the swirl of steam and cigarette smoke that filled the room. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

“I’m bloody _orange_. I need a bath,” Jimmy said, as if that made what he was doing any less insane.

“Well I’m currently using it!” Thomas said hotly.

“I know,” Jimmy smirked. “Don’t make me need it any less.” And he took off his dressing gown.

Thomas dropped his cigarette into the bath with a hiss and watched, stupefied, as Jimmy crossed the room, absolutely starkers, and climbed into the opposite end of the tub.

“Jimmy, bloody hell, what are you doing?!” Thomas drew himself up into a ball at his end of the tub, desperately trying to cover his intimate area with his hands. His cheeks were painted pink, his eyes on the tiles over Jimmy’s left shoulder.

Jimmy gave Thomas a withering look and said; “I’m having a bath.”

“But...I...” Thomas shook his head. “I’m getting out then - bloody look away will you?”

“No Thomas,” Jimmy reached out and caught Thomas by the elbow, “don’t go.”

Thomas looked at Jimmy’s hand on his arm, then at Jimmy’s face, and finally down into the soapy water between them. “Jimmy, this is...you’ve gone _loopy_.”

Jimmy snorted; “Not hardly. Just a bath, innit?”

Thomas have a long-suffering sigh. “Most normal folk tend to bath alone.”

“S’bit borin’ on me own though,” Jimmy smirked, “when I could be in ‘ere with you.” And he splashed the red-faced under-butler.

Thomas shook his head, flicking Jimmy with drops of water from his wet hair. “I never know what to make of you Jimmy Kent.”

Jimmy leaned back against the tub and grinned, stretching his legs out so they were either side of Thomas’s. “I like to keep you guessin’. Relax would you, you don’t look comfortable.”

“That’s because I’m _not_ bleedin’ comfortable,” Thomas huffed. He reached over the side of the tub found his cigarettes - he lit two and handed one to Jimmy. The footman noticed how Thomas’s hand trembled as he took a long drag. His own hand shook almost as much.

He knew why.

They smoked in silence for a minute or two, in which Thomas looked everywhere but at Jimmy. Slowly, Jimmy let his legs rest against Thomas’s, his feet against the under-butler’s hips. Thomas let his head fall back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed, and Jimmy couldn’t help but stare at how his pretty blush extended down his neck and onto his dark-haired chest. The under-butler incrementally unfurled; first he uncrossed his arms and draped them over the lip of the tub. Then he stretched his long legs out in front of him until his feet were resting on Jimmy’s thighs. By the time they’d finished their cigs they were practically in each other’s laps.

Now it was Jimmy’s turn to feel self-conscious, even though he’d been the one to initiate the whole situation. But having Thomas’s very masculine form laid out before him was making his heart hammer in his rib cage and his breath catch in his chest.

“Can I have another smoke?” Jimmy asked, just for something to say. Thomas obliged and as he leaned over to hand Jimmy the pack he suddenly snapped, pushing Jimmy up against the tub with his forearm, a great wave of water sloshing over the side.

“What are you doing to me?” Thomas hissed, his eyes dark, “Is this - am I a game to you Jimmy? Are my feelings a bloody game?”

Jimmy froze, a thousand stupid excuses on his lips, before he managed to choke out a bitten off sob and a; “No.”

Thomas softened instantly, his hand coming up to hold Jimmy’s face. “Jimmy I’m sorry,” he started but Jimmy cut him off.

“You’ve nothin’ to apologise for,” he sniffed, “I’m - it’s not a game Thomas. You’re a lot of things to me, but never a game.” He leaned forward and let his forehead rest against Thomas’s. “I just - I think up all these stupid ways to touch you and all these ridiculous reasons to be near you because...because I want you and I don’t know how to do _this_.”

Thomas sighed and drew Jimmy into his arms, - Jimmy was suddenly very aware they were both naked. “You don’t need an excuse you idiot,” he said, “if you’d tried just saying something you’d find I’m very agreeable to you being near me and touching me.”

“I know. It’s just. It’s a lot.”

Thomas ran his fingers through Jimmy’s hair. “There’s still carrot in here y’know.”

Jimmy huffed out a laugh against Thomas’s shoulder. “Bloody stupid idiot, can’t believe I did that. In front of the Dowager an’ all.”

“You do a lot of unbelievable things Jimmy. That was probably one of the more normal ones.”

Jimmy laughed then, and he was hit with the revelation of how easy it was - how comfortable he felt now, naked and in Thomas’s arms.

“I should’ve done this years ago,” Jimmy said.

“What, spilled carrot purée and used it as an excuse to break into the bathroom and climb in my bath with me?”

“No,” Jimmy pulled back enough to look Thomas in the eye, “I mean I should’ve told you sooner.”

Thomas gave him an affectionate smile. “Might’ve been nice. Sometimes I wondered if you even _carrot all_.” He smirked; “Get it? _Care_ at all?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“Was nice to see you’ve _fallen head over heels_ for me though,” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Stop it.”

“But yes,” Thomas grinned, “you should’ve _spilled the beans_ sooner.”

“I take it back,” Jimmy laughed, “I’m not in love with someone who makes _puns_.”


End file.
